Breaking the Habit
by AngelG93
Summary: Edward, desperate for something that can ease his pain over Al's sudden death, begins taking heroin... and now he can't stop. Parental!RoyEd (no yaoi) T for violence, language, and drug usage
1. Addiction

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**by AngelG93**_

* * *

A/N: This is purely a parental!Roy story (**no yaoi**). The idea came to me after reading some poignant parental!Roy fanfics. Man, I've had to sift through some sad Wikipedia articles and medical websites to get accurate descriptions. I hope my college web-browser inspection thingy doesn't think I'm a junkie or something… ^^;

* * *

_Lithium, don't want to lock me up inside.  
Lithium, don't want to forget how it feels without...  
Lithium, I want to stay in love with my sorrow._

-"Lithium" by **Evanescence**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Addiction**

It had all been so sudden. One moment, he had been right there with them, and the next… gone. In the middle of an ordinary, happy day, Alphonse Elric had stopped speaking, stopped moving, just… stopped. Ed had examined the blood seal for signs of damage, but had come up empty-handed. Only weeks later, after extensive research, did he realize that the bond between armor and soul had broken, that no matter how well he may have attached Al to that hollow shell, it was unable to house a foreign soul indefinitely. There would have been no way to predict the rejection, and nothing would have been able to stop it. Despite all his work, despite all his promises… Al was gone… forever.

* * *

In the time following Alphonse's unexpected death, Roy figured Ed wanted to be left alone, so he gave the young alchemist his space and privacy. After several months of barely hearing from the boy, Edward appeared in Mustang's office, fully garbed in standard military uniform. He looked worn-out in more ways than one; it wasn't a pleasant sight.

"What happened to that red coat you always wear?" asked the Colonel, beginning the conversation on what he thought was a casual note.

Edward didn't meet his superior's eyes as he replied in an emotionless voice, "I didn't need it anymore. Besides, uniform is required for soldiers."

"You mean you've joined full-time?"

The sixteen-year-old nodded solemnly. "It just… felt like the next step, what with… you know."

"I see," Roy sighed, interlacing his fingers and smiling thoughtfully over the tips. "So, I guess that officially makes you Major Elric, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Mustang blinked. "'Sir?' What warrants the formality?"

"I'm just… practicing. For superiors who actually _care_ about that kind of thing."

Ignoring the dig at his own character, the Colonel cleared his throat and moved on to what he could quickly tell was the heart of the matter. "How… how are you holding up?"

"Fine." The one-word response immediately tipped Roy off that Ed didn't want to talk about it… about Al.

Nevertheless, the boy's unconvincing expression urged Roy to press him just a little further. He leaned over his desk and did his best to meet the young major's listless eyes. "Are you really doing okay?"

"Yeah," Ed replied just as apathetically as before. "It's, um… it's _hard_… but I'll be okay. I'm… I'm managing."

"Well… if you ever feel like you aren't managing… you can talk to me; you know that, right?"

Ed nodded feebly. "Noted, sir. Am I dismissed?"

Roy frowned; he didn't like the way Ed was putting up this barrier of military protocol between them, but he could see he wasn't going to get any more out of the disheartened boy. "Yes," he said at last. "You're dismissed."

* * *

The first thing Colonel Mustang did when he arrived at work the next day was ensure that the newly-instated Major Elric would be continuing to work under his command. In Ed's lackluster condition, Roy didn't want to entrust him to anyone else. As the next few weeks passed, he made note of the small blonde's minor behaviors, anything that could indicate what he was really going through.

And that's when he noticed the spasms. Eventually, he established the pattern: Ed's hands would start shaking, and he would excuse himself from the office for a minute or so. When he would return, the tremors would have stopped. This cycle happened two or three times each day, and Roy couldn't help but wonder why this was, so he watched more closely, using all the detective skills he could muster. When Ed would come back after recovering from an episode of spasms, his left sleeve would look particularly wrinkled, as if he had scrunched it up only to pull it back down. Also, he would flex the fingers of his left hand, like something was tingling inside his arm. And then… there was his face. For about three or four hours afterward, Ed would seem a little happier, but it was with distant, unfocused eyes. Mustang sometimes had to call the boy's name several times before getting a response. Roy had seen these symptoms before. In the War, he'd had comrades who would slip away for a little while, mentioning they were going to "shoot up", and they hadn't been talking about killing Ishvalans.

After enough observation, he decided he couldn't just stand by any longer. He picked the day of confrontation and waited with baited breath, trying to figure out exactly how he should approach the troubled boy. As predicted, Ed began trembling a few hours into that chosen workday. He rose to leave, and Mustang knew he had to act now.

"Where are you going?"

"Just for some air," Ed replied. "It's stuffy in here."

"Well, it'll have to wait, because I need to talk to you about something."

"It'll only be a minute," Ed protested, starting to lose his calm, and all the while the spasms increased in intensity. Without a word, Roy stood, moved to the door, and locked it, pocketing the key. Ed looked horrified, terrified.

"What's wrong?" Roy demanded at last.

"Nothing's wrong," Ed lied, wiping nervous sweat off of his rapidly paling face. "Sir," he appended.

Seeing that Ed wasn't going to cooperate, Roy stepped closer so that he could see every nuance of the boy's expression. "Edward, are you… _taking_ anything?"

"…No." The trembling voice was so unlike Ed's that it cut Roy like a knife.

The Colonel exhaled heavily, letting his pain show through. "I've known you for quite some time now, Edward, but I can say, without a doubt, that _that_ was the least convincing lie you've ever told."

Before Ed could react, Mustang slipped his hands into the boy's pockets. It didn't take long for his fingers to find what he had been looking for. As Ed watched in stunned silence, Roy pulled out a capped syringe filled with a light brown liquid. For a long moment, they just looked at each other in silence, then…

"Give it back." Ed's tone was desperate, dangerous. "Give it back." He made a mad grab for the hypodermic, but – having the advantage of several inches – Roy held it far out of the boy's reach. "You bastard! Give it back right now, or-"

"Or what?" Roy cut in, knitting his brow. "What will you do?" Getting no response, Mustang deposited the suspicious object onto his desk, but as he did so, Ed moved again to seize it. Roy anticipated the boy's dash just in time to set down the syringe and grab both of Ed's wrists. The kid wasn't thinking clearly, and Roy couldn't afford for him to lash out alchemically.

"LET GO OF ME!" Ed half-screamed. "LET GO!"

"No," Roy replied sternly, but calmly. He forced Ed into a chair and sank down so that they were at eye level. "I can't believe you would do this, Ed." Roy momentarily choked on a painful lump of emotion. "How long? How long have you been injecting yourself?"

For nearly a minute, Ed said nothing, his lower lip quivering violently. "Since… since a little after…" he couldn't make himself finish.

"After Al died?" Roy supplied.

"DON'T SAY HIS NAME!" Ed snapped, his voice breaking. "J… just don't…" His breathing was becoming shallow and rapid, panicked.

"Please, Ed. Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

"I… I don't know… some guy… he comes up to me, tells me he's heard I'm struggling with loss… says he has something to make the pain go away…" He sniffled as he continued, "I thought it was just a normal pain reliever at first, but… by the time I realized… it was too late. I couldn't stop…" The boy's sentence devolved into unintelligible whimpers as he hung his head.

"Edward…" Stewing through a whirlwind of distress, Roy made a futile effort to reestablish eye contact. "Why did you hide it? Why didn't you come to me right away?" The fact that Ed wouldn't look at him was answer enough: he was ashamed. The small blonde hadn't wanted Mustang to be disappointed in him. Hoping that Ed would remain calm, Roy let go of him and faced the desk, eyeing the syringe with hatred. "I don't suppose you want to tell me _what_ exactly you've been taking."

"You know damn well what it is."

Roy sighed and nodded.

"So… what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Mustang admitted. "Except that I can't let this continue. I need you to tell me who's been supplying you, Ed, then we'll-"

A sharp blow to the back of his neck cut him off. It was well-aimed, precise, and effective. He blacked out before he even hit the floor.

* * *

"Colonel? Colonel!"

Hawkeye was shaking him by the shoulder. After a few hazy moments of disorientation, Mustang sat up, feeling the sore part of his spine where Edward had struck him. Edward... the drugs… Immediately, Roy was on his feet, and the first place his eyes landed was the desk. The syringe was gone.

But, that should have come as no surprise. When threatened, Ed had resorted to violence. It was a common sign of intense opioid dependence.

"What happened in here, chief?" asked Havoc, chewing on the end of his cigarette. Roy frowned at the lieutenant. Nicotine was a drug, too, after all. With what he had just learned, Mustang couldn't help but feel resentment and disapproval toward the whole lot, legal or otherwise.

"I had… a talk with Fullmetal."

"And he knocked you out?" Fuery gasped with a squeak.

Mustang looked around at his subordinates. He knew he could trust them, and he didn't want to try and help Edward by himself. The Fullmetal Alchemist was their friend, too; they deserved to know.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, close the door."

As she did so, Mustang ran a sweaty hand over his face, steeling himself for the declaration of the bitter reality. At last, he faced his five attendants and found the strength to say it.

"I've just received firsthand confirmation… that Edward has a heroin addiction."

* * *

_I want to stay in love with my sorrow._

_Oh, but God, I want to let it go._

* * *

A/N: No Homunculi in this story (shocker, I know). Just consider this separate from canon plot altogether.

This marks the second fanfiction where I've killed off Al. T.T I'm so cruel...


	2. Dependence

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**by AngelG93**_

* * *

A/N: Dark stuff… yeah… this coming from the person who wrote an essay on how the Amestrian government was modeled after Nazi Germany… *headdesk*

If it looks like I've gone typo-crazy on Ed's lines while he's high, that's on purpose. He's not coherent, after all, so you might have to rely on Roy's responses to know what he's even saying (or you could try sounding it out).

Dr. Knox doesn't have a canon first name, so I made one up. Jackson Knox sounded good… Jack for short.

* * *

_Don't say I'm out of touch  
With this rampant chaos - your reality  
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge_

-"Imaginary" by **Evanescence**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Dependence**

Edward didn't come to work the next day. Or the day after that. After nearly a week had passed with no sign of him, Roy realized he wasn't coming back at all. He told his men to keep a sharp eye out for the boy in the city, but none of them reported seeing him.

"Dammit. He's avoiding us on purpose."

"He's scared, sir," said Hawkeye with compassion in her brown eyes.

"That's only making things worse for him," Mustang protested, thumping an aggravated hand on his desk. "What am I supposed to do, organize a drug raid?"

"I wouldn't advise such a drastic response, Colonel," the Lieutenant recommended.

Roy sighed and ran an anxious hand through his dark hair. "Well… I have to start somewhere. Call Falman in here, would you? And, tell him to bring all the files on Edward he has."

"Sir," saluted Hawkeye. Within minutes, she returned with the Warrant Officer and left the two men in private.

"I have the files you requested, sir," said Falman, spreading several folders and manila envelopes across his commander's desk, "but I don't see how this will help."

"Edward said he was approached by someone who offered him the drug. That seems like too much of a coincidence to me," the Colonel explained as he thumbed through the contents of a file. Eventually he came across Ed's transfer documents. Mustang's eyes widened; the date was several months old, only about a week after Al had died.

"Falman? Before Ed came to my office, had you seen him around headquarters?"

The Warrant Officer blanched slightly, but nodded. "It was only in passing, though, sir. I never spoke to him. I… figured he wouldn't be much for talking from the expression he was wearing."

"So, he's really been here for months? And here I thought he'd only recently joined up." Suddenly, an idea clicked in place. "Wait… this means his transfer to the main branch of the military would probably have preceded his initial exposure to heroin."

"And that means…?"

"Don't you see, Falman? There's a connection there. Drug dealers don't just hand out their wares to random children. What if someone _paid_ him to get Ed addicted?"

"That sounds like a thin limb to cling to, sir."

"But not too thin to be impossible. We both know Ed has plenty of enemies in the military, people who are jealous of his skill and rank at his age."

"But, sir-"

"What?" Mustang snapped, getting annoyed at Falman's resistance to his theory.

"It doesn't change the fact that Major Elric accepted the drug, used it on himself, and kept using it. Finding the original culprit won't break his addiction… sir."

Reality had slapped him in the face once again. Mustang grit his teeth. "You're right there, Falman. _That_ is a problem that needs a whole other solution." He set down the folder and asked, "Write down the room and hotel Ed's staying in, all right?"

"Y… yes, sir," the human encyclopedia obeyed, scribbling out the information on a small piece of paper, "but… what are you planning?"

"I'm going to go see him," Roy replied, snatching the note as soon as Falman had finished.

The Warrant Officer flinched, as if the thought of seeing the Fullmetal Alchemist on drugs terrified him. "That… that could be dangerous."

"Which is why it's good you know where I'm going. If you don't hear from me by the end of the day, you'll know Ed's lost it and killed me."

"But, sir!" Falman cried, horrified at how nonchalantly his commander was predicting his possible death.

"Dismissed," Mustang waved in farewell.

* * *

Finding the room was easy enough. It was only when he was about to knock on the door that he hesitated. What would he find inside? Mastering his fear, Roy rapped his knuckles on the smooth wood. After no initial response, he cleared his throat.

"Edward? It's me. I just want to talk. May I come in?"

"…s'not locked," murmured a lethargic voice from the other side of the door. Taking that to mean "yes," Roy stepped inside. The room was dark, but Roy immediately caught the glint of glass. Empty vials littered the floor in an impromptu maze. Frowning in disapproval, Mustang picked up the glass tubes and deposited them in a single pile in the corner. Only then, once his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, did he see Edward. The boy was stretched out on his bed, stripped down to his boxers and a thin tank top. A passer-by would have thought he looked peaceful, but Roy knew better. A rubber strap was tied to his lower arm just below the elbow, and a drained syringe sat guiltily on his nightstand. Roy stood over his troubled subordinate, hoping Ed could see just how worried he was.

"Wuh s'eating yu?" Ed asked as a drowsy smile played about his mouth.

"I would think that would be obvious."

"Shtu… stupid… m'fine… feel graaate…" Even though the room was so dark, Ed's pupils were tiny dots, just another indication that he was slammed. Roy untied the rubber tourniquet and sat on the edge of Ed's bed. The kid really was a mess, his golden hair loose and lank in a disheveled tangle. Without the bulky military uniform to conceal his condition, Roy could now see how gaunt he was. All over his left arm and right leg were telltale incision marks, so frequently reopened that they had formed festering scabs over shriveled veins. There were even odd scratches on his automail, as if, in his disorientation, he had thought he could somehow inject himself through the metal limbs only to drag the needle along the unyielding surface.

"Ed…" Roy whispered. He had never been so tempted to break down, to cry unashamedly. "Don't… don't you see what this is doing to you?"

The intoxicated boy gave no answer, but that complacent, glazed smile was starting to kindle anger in Roy's heart amidst the grief. "Yu… look ah-phul," Ed chuckled at last, as if this was somehow funny. "Yu wan sum?"

"Not even if you paid me," Roy said curtly, thinking that firmness might alert Ed as to how bad of a situation he was in.

"Buzz-killerrr." Ed dragged out the final consonant with a tease, as if he could embarrass the Colonel into joining him. "F'yur gunna be so… damm mow-rose bowt ih, thn jus goway."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Ed lazily stuck out his tongue at Roy, but his playful expression then faded into one far more dangerous: despair. "Y? Y dun yu jus goway? Yu wur jus fine wiph ih bifour."

"'Before'? What do you mean?" And then, it hit him. Ed was talking about how Roy had stayed away from him after Al had died. His plan to give the small blonde breathing room had horribly backfired. Under the influence of the heroin, Ed was admitting… that he hadn't wanted to be alone after all.

"Yu maid ih prety cleer tha I wus supposeto sink ur swim on miown… so, heer I ahm… ghess I'm sinkn…"

"You little idiot!" Roy choked in a combination of regret and anger. "Pushing you away wasn't my intention at all! If that was how you felt, you should have come to me, yelled at me, something!"

"Aaa, well. Too lait now…"

"Whoever said it was too late?" Roy's temper was fully stoked now. "Why are you just giving up? Do you _know_ what will happen if you keep doing this? You'll want _more_, and _more_, until eventually you'll overdose and kill yourself! IS THAT WHAT YOU _WANT_?"

For the first time, Ed looked him directly in the eyes. "Wuh f'it is?"

Something snapped; those terrible words broke something inside of him. He grabbed Ed's shoulders and pulled him upright. "I'm not going to let that happen. You hear me?"

"'S nun f'yor bisness." Though his speech was still slurred, Ed's acceptance of his hopelessness came across clearly enough. "'S my life. Yu can't tell me wuh t'do."

This was, in a sense, true. He was Ed's superior, but outside of the office or battle, what authority did he really have over the stubborn blonde? If Ed was going to live through this, _that_ would have to change. Roy set his jaw, now knowing what he had to do. "I'll come back a little later, all right?"

"I dun give a damm wuh yu do," Ed grumbled, wriggling out of Mustang's grasp and flopping onto his side. "Get th'hell owt."

* * *

His first stop was Hughes's apartment. He needed someone to confirm that his plan was the right choice, and his closest friend was the best person to do just that.

"Roy!" Maes beamed, clapping Mustang around the shoulders and pulling him inside. "Did you come to see Elicia in her new dress? It's the cutest thing!"

"I'm sure it is, but that's not why I'm here." His somber tone tipped Hughes off that now wasn't the time for fun and games. After finding a quiet spot where Gracia and Elicia wouldn't have to hear them, Roy told Maes about Ed's condition, and what he intended to do about it.

"Oh, my God," Hughes breathed. "For Ed to become a junkie, of all people…"

"Yeah," Mustang agreed. "I've sent him on dangerous missions for years, but I don't think I've ever been so fearful for his life. So, what do you think? Is it worth a shot?"

Hughes leveled his pal with a steady gaze. "As long as you really understand what this will mean, I think you can handle it."

"Yes, I know; this… this will change everything between the two of us. He may hate me for this, but if it saves his life, I can take that."

"You really care about him, Roy; that much is obvious. Given the circumstances, you shouldn't have any trouble getting permission. But, just in case, why don't you go to Knox? He's met Ed, and he _is_ a doctor."

"A coroner," Mustang corrected.

"Nuance. The point is you can get an official diagnosis from him. I'll go, too, so you'll have more witnesses. A case like this, we can probably get it all taken care of by the end of the day."

"Optimistic as ever. I just hope you're right."

* * *

"I'm warning you," Mustang said grimly as he gripped the doorknob to Ed's room. "I don't know what kind of mood he'll be in, so watch yourselves."

Hughes and Knox nodded (Upon learning of the young alchemist's addiction, the doctor had been more than willing to lend a hand). Upon entering, Roy found the place almost exactly as he had left it. Even Ed was still in the same position, his back turned toward the intruders.

"So you did come back." His words had regained coherency, but he still sounded a bit distant. "Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't."

"Ed, I didn't come back alone."

That got the boy's attention. He whirled on them, ready for a struggle, but found only Hughes and Knox as Mustang's backup. "Why are they here? I don't want them here. Go away, all of you!" He threw a pillow in their direction that Hughes easily caught.

"Well, Jack?" Roy asked the doctor, indicating that they shouldn't waste any more time.

"Right," Dr. Knox agreed, setting his portable medical kit down beside the bed and speaking in his kindest authoritative voice. "Edward, I'm just going to take a look at you, all right?"

"Go to hell."

"Come on, kid. What do you have to lose?"

Slowly, the doctor coaxed his reluctant patient into sitting up and enduring the casual examination.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Knox asked at one point, taking notes.

"Dunno. Wasn't hungry."

"What about water?"

"Tried the other day. Didn't stay down."

The questions continued until, finally, Knox gathered up his instruments, stood, and faced Mustang. "I'll gladly vouch for you, Roy. The kid needs serious help."

"Hey! I didn't ask for any of you bastards to help me!" Ed jumped to his feet, but swayed with lightheadedness an instant later. Hughes was closest and caught him, helping the disoriented boy back to the bed.

"All right, then. Let's do this," Roy declared. "Ed, you need to get dressed."

"Why the hell should I?"

"Maes, would you…?"

"Sure," Hughes nodded in understanding. "Come on, Ed. Let's see if we can find your pants and jacket, at least."

"No… I just want to be left alone. Just leave me alone to die! Quit it already!" Despite Ed's miserable grumbling, Hughes managed to make him at least somewhat presentable. Realizing that Ed couldn't walk on his own in his weakened state, the Lieutenant Colonel supported and guided him out of the hotel and into their waiting car.

* * *

Ed hated this. Why were that bastard Colonel and his buddies making him leave his warm bed? The jerks. He didn't want to go anywhere. He just wanted to sleep, with the warmth of the heroin washing away his pain. Couldn't any of them understand that he didn't want help?

It had been nearly six hours since his last injection, and the effects were completely gone by now, leaving him drained and depressed. He would need another one soon. Just thinking about it made his hands shake. Mustang quickly noticed this and placed one of his own larger hands around his, quelling the tremors. Ed's eyes darted around the inside of the car as they rumbled along, and eventually he noticed Dr. Knox's bag. Maybe… maybe there might be something in there. Morphine, or… Ed then remembered that Knox had picked up one of Ed's vials of heroin at the hotel, as if gathering evidence. He could get another dose right now, even if he had to swallow it. Ed lunged at the kit, but Mustang and Hughes pinned him against the back seat just before he was able to grab it.

"Lemme go!" he begged, thrashing against their strong hold. "Please, just a little! A little can't hurt, right? Come on, please!"

"We can't let you do that, Ed," said Mustang.

Ed glared at him and announced, "You're a cruel person, Colonel, trying to make me stay alive when I couldn't possibly give a less of a damn."

"Ed…" Hughes's grip slackened momentarily – he was a sensitive man, after all – and Ed took that chance to wrench his arm free and make a swipe at Hughes. The sloppy attack missed, giving Mustang time to hoist Ed onto his lap and wrap his arms across Ed's torso, restraining the boy's upper movements.

"Get off me, you perverted bastard!" Ed thundered.

"Don't be stupid, Ed. There are far too many beautiful women in the world for me to get that desperate."

"WILL ALL OF YOU SHUT UP? I'M TRYING TO DRIVE HERE!"

Up to this point, Ed hadn't realized who was at the wheel. Pausing in his tantrum, he saw dirty blond hair clipped into a low bun resting on the top of the front seat and steely chocolate eyes glaring at him in the rear-view mirror.

"L… Lieutenant Hawkeye?" he said rather lamely.

"Who did you think?" she retorted, still in a bad mood. "Now pipe down, Major, before I decide to swerve and send you out the window."

"Wow, Riza," Hughes chuckled. "I don't think I've ever seen you get this scary before."

"That goes for you, too, Lieutenant Colonel."

"Now, now, Hawkeye," Mustang eased, "keep your attention on the road-"

"No back-seat driving from you! …sir!"

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," murmured Knox from the passenger seat.

"An excellent idea, Doctor." She pressed her foot on the brake, and the car slid to a halt. "Here you are, gentlemen. Good luck."

"Good luck?" Ed echoed. "Why? Where the hell are we?"

"Come on, kiddo," Hughes smiled, lifting Ed off of Mustang's lap and carrying him up a flight of shallow stone steps. From his angle, Ed couldn't see in front of him, which only made him more infuriated. Even though his limbs felt irrationally heavy, he flailed like a toddler being taken to day care.

"Put me down! This should be considered kidnapping!"

"Quit yelling, kid," Knox advised. "If you keep expending energy like this, you'll knock yourself out."

"I DON'T GIVE A DA-" Hughes cupped a hand over Ed's mouth before the curse could slip out completely.

"That's quite enough filthy language from you for one day, young man," he said. "Honestly, where did you even learn to talk like that?"

"You aren't exactly the cleanest speaker yourself," Mustang prodded.

"At least I curb my tongue in the presence of children. If my little Elicia were to be polluted like that, I think I'd cry."

"M NT H CHLD!" Ed roared, his words heavily muffled by Hughes's hand.

"You're sixteen," Mustang reminded. "You're still a minor, which is exactly why we're doing this."

Still frustrated and confused, Ed continued to fight until he passed under a doorframe, at which point he noticed a large plague that read _Central Courthouse_. He tapped Hughes's shoulder to indicate he was ready to speak more calmly now, and the Lieutenant Colonel obligingly removed his makeshift gag.

"Why are we here? I don't get it."

"You will soon. Just try to understand, Ed. Roy only has your best interests at heart."

Ed scoffed and craned his neck to see more of his surroundings. He could hear Mustang and Knox talking as they walked in front, and eventually a third familiar voice greeted them: Warrant Officer Falman. They passed several courtrooms, heading toward the rear of the building, probably where the judges who managed less important cases were shunted. Was he going to be locked up? He had broken the law by taking illegal drugs. Drugs… remembering that the chemical euphoria wasn't currently streaming through his veins made him feel sick.

"Hughes… I… I think I'm gonna puke."

Hughes nodded, calling to the other men. "You three head on in; we'll catch up."

"Right," Mustang affirmed, noticing Ed's wan face.

He barely made it to a toilet in time. The vomit burned his already dry throat, which just made him cough harder. Hughes knelt by his side, rubbing his back in small circles. Once the convulsions eased, Ed felt even weaker, and he could no longer maintain clarity in his senses. He vaguely registered water on his face, briefly followed by a towel. And then Hughes was carrying him again, more tenderly than before. Hughes was a father, after all; seeing Ed like this must be breaking his compassionate heart. For a moment, Ed felt guilty about the pain he was causing his friends… but they didn't need to be bothering themselves with him. They should just give up on him and move on. He wasn't worth it. Surely, with how bad he had screwed himself up, he was beyond hope, beyond saving.

People were talking around him as Hughes set him down in a wooden chair, but he couldn't hear what they were saying through the shrill ringing in his ears. Exhausted, Ed closed his eyes and drifted off to a troubled sleep. Only the abrupt _SLAM!_ of a gavel brought him back to the land of the living. It was nearly dark by now. His vision had improved only slightly, enough for him to distinguish a woman in a black judicial robe handing something to Mustang… a form of some kind? Mustang signed it immediately and breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the judge for her time.

"W… what happened?" Ed asked groggily as Mustang approached him with a warm smile.

The Colonel sat down next to him, meeting his unfocused eyes. "Ed, I'm going to take care of you from here on out."

"Why the hell… is that?"

Mustang held up the paper he had signed for Ed to see. It took several long seconds for him to make out even a handful of the words written on the page, and eventually, the only way he could sort it out was by reading it aloud.

"By… by the authority… of this c… court, Roy Mustang… is hereby de… declared the-" He paused, suddenly more alert as his now frantic eyes roved the page, "is hereby declared _the parent and legal guardian of Edward Elric_?" He read the last phrase like most people would a death sentence. He gaped at Mustang. "This has got to be some kind of sick joke, right? You're messing with me."

Mustang gently brushed some of Ed's oily bangs away from his face. "I've never been more serious in my life. You're going to get through this, Ed. _We_ are going to get through this, because we're in this together now… because from this point on, I'm your father."

There were many things Ed could have said in response to this solemn monologue, but, as usual, the first thing that came to his mind went straight to his mouth.

"Kill me now."

* * *

_I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge  
The nightmare I built my own world to escape_

* * *

A/N: Google failed in helping me know how adoption processes work, so… I made up something that sounded viable for Ed's case. They basically just had to prove that he was unfit to care for himself as an independent minor and then suggest Roy as his caretaker. Declaring Roy as just a legal guardian wouldn't give him the same authority as a full-fledged parent, so they went all-out.

Hawkeye strikes me as a woman who wouldn't appreciate a fight inside the car while she's driving. Heads would roll. Just saying…

Before I made final edits, Roy said, "I am your father," which - of course - then made me think this...

**Ed**: "That's not true! That's impossible!"  
**Roy**: "Search the official document. You know this to be true."  
**Ed**: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooo..."


	3. Withdrawal

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**by AngelG93**_

* * *

A/N: I'm glad my all-out parental!Roy ness didn't seem to put anyone off. Yay!

* * *

_I don't know what's worth fighting for  
Or why I have to scream.  
I don't know why I instigate  
And say what I don't mean.  
I don't know how I got this way  
I know it's not alright._

"Breaking the Habit" by **Linkin Park**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Withdrawal**

"Ed-"

"No."

"Ed, I-"

"_No_."

It really was amazing how much the young alchemist looked like a small child as he sat on that chair with arms crossed in defiance, lower lip puffed in displeasure, and eyes fixed in disgust. Roy had prepared himself for resistance, but this babyish standoff was almost comical. What was more, he knew it couldn't last long; Ed was already starting to tremble again, his body desperate for the comfort of the heroin. Despite the tenseness of his limbs, he looked close to passing out. Judging that Ed no longer had the strength to put up a physical fight, Roy stooped and offered his back to Ed.

"Climb on."

"No. I'm not going anywhere with _you_."

"Ed, really. This is ridiculous. Just get on."

"I'm not doing it."

"Well, would you rather I sling you over my shoulder and haul you around like a sack of grain?"

This suggestion was met with silence, but after a few seconds, Roy felt the trembling arms loop around his neck. Grinning to himself, the Colonel hoisted the young Major piggyback-style. He turned to Hughes, Knox, and Falman. "Thank you, all of you. I think I can handle him from here."

"Sure, Roy," Hughes smiled, "but if you need anything, don't hesitate to holler, got it?"

"Right."

As Mustang carried Ed toward the door, Hughes called out to the boy. "Hey, Ed. Remember what I said before, okay?"

Ed only gave a non-committal grunt in response, and Roy couldn't help but wonder what it was Hughes had told him. Ah, well... there'd be time for that later.

"So, where to now, sir?" asked Lieutenant Hawkeye once the Colonel had succeeded in depositing Ed in the back seat of the car.

"Back to the hotel. We'll collect the essentials of Ed's belongings, and then I'll send Breda by later to pick up the rest."

"Very good, sir."

During the short drive, Roy kept an eye on his young charge through the rear-view mirror, knowing that Ed wouldn't like it if Roy stared at him directly. The tremors had reached such a point that Ed looked on the verge of having a full-blown seizure. Mustang considered saying something like, "Try to hang in there," but it always ended up sounding empty and pointless in his head, so he kept silent. At last, Hawkeye parked the car in front of the hotel. Roy stepped out and opened the back door so he could get Ed, but the boy moaned incoherently and lazily swatted away Mustang's hand.

"Would you rather wait in the car? I can-"

"No!" Ed cried, suddenly eager. Roy knew mood swings were a side effect of opioids, but the small blonde's change of mind seemed drastic even so. Nevertheless, he complied with this new request and carried Ed up to the room.

"Where should I set you down?"

"Bed," Ed muttered. Roy laid him on the mattress before looking around.

"You've gotten sloppier," he noted, trying to insert a bit of humor into the dark, musty room. He began picking up strewn clothes, folding them, and laying them in Ed's small suitcase. To this multi-layered lump of fabric he added Ed's state-issued pocket watch and a few alchemy books he found stashed under the couch.

"Is there anything else?" he asked his reluctant "son" at last. In the time Roy had gone around collecting items and tidying up, Ed had curled into a ball on his side in an effort to quell his spasms.

"In… in the closet," he stammered. "In the other room, back in the far corner."

"What's in there?"

Ed didn't answer, so Roy was left to find out the old-fashioned way. Since Ed hadn't moved residence since Al had died, he still lived in a double-room suite. What could he have hidden in that closet? Roy stuck his head into the nearly pitch-black space and started groping around. The search forced him further and further into the small, dark closet. At last, his fingers closed around something… something like hair. Quite confused, Roy pulled the object out into the light only to drop it in surprise. It was a metal helmet… Al's helmet. After a second excursion, he found the rest of the armor inside as well. Why did Ed still have this? Roy honestly felt disgusted; it was as if Ed had kept a corpse stashed in his closet. Carrying the helmet, he returned to Ed's room.

"Edward, what was this doing in-" he stopped abruptly, and the helmet slipped out of his hand once again.

Ed had played him for a fool. Two or three minutes had been plenty of time for him, even in his agitated state. By the time Roy had reentered the room, the damage had been done. Ed looked up at the Colonel and smiled in triumph as he pulled the needle out of his skin.

"You… you dropped Al," he giggled, already feeling the rush from the heroin. "Stupid Colonel… as usual."

"Edward…" Roy's voice threatened to break. Picking up the helmet, he approached the bed. He could think of several things to call the boy, none of them pleasant, but he held his tongue. If he was going to be Ed's father, he had to be responsible, mature. So, instead, he took the empty syringe away from Ed and rolled it across the floor to join its companions in the pile he'd made earlier.

"That was your last injection; this is your last high._ No more_, understand?"

It was quite obvious that Ed couldn't understand much of anything in his present condition. Roy exhaled forcefully in an attempt to relieve some of his own stress before setting the helmet in Ed's twitching hands.

"Why did you keep this, Ed?"

The boy looked at him lethargically. "Why… why wouldn't I? Why would I throw away Al? He's my brother. My little brother, Al."

"I know who he was, Ed… but Al's gone, remember?"

The smile slipped off of Ed's face, and he shook his head uncomprehendingly. "No, Al's right here. Right here with us." He hugged the helmet to his chest and rocked slightly. "He hasn't gone anywhere, have you, Al? No, you're right here."

Roy steadied the swaying boy. "Edward, we need to go now."

"Why?"

"You're going to come live with me."

"But, Al-"

"Al can come, too. I'll have Breda bring the rest of him later, but you can bring… his head… right now. Okay?"

Ed's fuddled brain puzzled over that for about a minute, then he nodded.

"Good. C'mere."

Roy crouched and scooped his young charge off of the bed. Clutching the plume of the helmet like a talisman, Ed wrapped his arms around Roy's neck and rested his head against the Colonel's collarbone. By shifting the boy's weight onto one arm, Roy freed a hand to grab the suitcase. As he shut the door of the hotel room, he hoped this would mark the conclusion of Ed's darkest chapter.

Hawkeye was certainly perplexed upon Ed and Roy's return to the car. "What happened?"

"I was careless; I took my eyes off of him for less than four minutes, and he injected himself again. The only thing I can say is that he's calmer now… but that'll only last a few hours."

The Lieutenant gaped at the object in Ed's grasp. "Is that…?"

"Yeah."

"And you're letting him hang onto it? That can't be healthy, sir."

"I'm trying to make this transition as easy as possible for him. Who knows, maybe Al's voice of reason will reach him from beyond the grave." By this time, Ed lay across the back seat of the car, and Roy sat in shotgun.

"So… your apartment?"

"Please."

As the car rumbled along the streets of Central, Roy watched Ed through the mirror again. The boy had a vacant smile as he whispered to Al's helmet, carrying on a low conversation with the empty air. It was a pitiable image, one Roy hoped he would never have to see again.

* * *

Ed emerged from his high feeling like he had been run over by a tank… several times. From the softness beneath him, he deduced he was on a bed, different than the one before. His surroundings were dim, with the only light filtering through curtains over a single window. However, even with so little light, he could still make out the metallic gleam of Al's helmet as it lay on a dresser across the room.

"Hey." That was Mustang's voice. Ed slowly lifted his head to find the Colonel seated in a chair at the end of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," Ed mumbled. "Where am I?"

"My apartment. Before Hughes got married, he and I shared the place, and I guess I never came up with a reason to move even after it was just me."

"Why'd you drag me here?"

"I had to get you out of that hotel, Ed. Leaving you in that environment wouldn't fix anything."

"That would suit me just fine; I don't _want_ to fix anything." He pushed himself upright and glared at Mustang. "I don't want your help."

His superior stood, pulled the curtains back to let more light in, and turned toward the door. "Well, that's too bad, 'cause you're getting it anyway."

"Where're you going?"

"We need to get something in your stomach. As shocking as it sounds, I _can_ cook."

Ed scoffed.

"Just stay right there for a moment," advised Mustang.

As the Colonel stepped out of the room, Ed snapped, "Don't bother. It won't stay down." When this objection received no response, he huffed and tried to get off the bed, muttering, "Stupid Colonel. I don't need his help. I'll be fine on my own. He should just mind his own business."

He was able to take a few shaky steps before having to lean on the furniture for support. After another attempt, he slid to the floor, panting. He was simply too exhausted to move any further. This sucked.

And so, when Mustang returned with a bowl of faintly steaming liquid, he found his young charge splayed on the floor. "I told you to stay right there," he groaned.

"Since when… have I listened… to you?"

"A bad habit that needs adjusting if I'm going to be of any help to you," the Colonel noted.

"So… if I don't want your help… I should just keep not listening."

Mustang sighed as he set the bowl on the dresser next to Al's helmet. "Just what am I going to do with you?"

"Mind your own damn business and leave me alone?" suggested Ed.

"No can do." The Colonel, despite Ed's feeble struggles, picked up the boy and returned him to the bed. He lumped together a small mountain of pillows and propped Ed up against it before finally retrieving the bowl.

"What is that?" Ed asked as he eyed the golden-brown contents suspiciously.

"It's just broth," chuckled Mustang, amused by Ed's paranoia. "I figured we should start with something simple."

"Or, you could just let me starve to death. I wouldn't care."

Ed immediately saw that his snarky comment produced a kind of distressed concern in Mustang's eyes. "Ed… why? Why do you want to die?"

He glowered at a spot on the floor so he wouldn't have to keep looking at the Colonel. "Because I don't deserve to live. I… I let him die." His gaze drifted to the nearby helmet. "It should have been me. I was supposed to protect him… and I let him down."

"Ed, you had no way of knowing-"

The small blonde was getting riled now. "That doesn't matter! I should have been more prepared! If I had acted right then, maybe… maybe I could have saved him."

"You can't know what would or wouldn't have happened. Ed… I do understand what you're going through. I lost plenty of friends in the War, and I always berated myself for not being able to save each one. It's called Survivor's Guilt, and it's completely natural… but you have to learn how to move on. What would Al say if he were here? Do you think he'd be happy about what you've done to yourself?"

"…No…" came the reply in a small, defeated voice.

"No," Mustang repeated. "No, he wouldn't be happy. Al wouldn't want you to throw away your life out of guilt, Ed."

The young Major had no retort for this, but he wasn't yet ready to give in… because it _wasn't_ just guilt. He wanted to see Al again, so badly that the mere thought twisted his insides. Death was his only escape, his only way of ever making that desire come true.

"Please, Ed," Mustang entreated. He sat on the edge of the bed now, swirling a spoon through the broth. "Just give your life a chance. Give _me_ a chance to help you."

At last, Ed decided he would humor the Colonel for now. He slowly opened his mouth, and Mustang, sensing his small victory, almost immediately offered him a spoonful of the thick liquid. It was rather bland – probably because the Colonel hadn't risked using any seasoning – but at least it was warm, and it didn't immediately make him feel like vomiting. He tried to savor the sensation of it running down his throat, but he was finding it hard to appreciate anything at the moment.

"Well?"

"Well… it's not poisonous," Ed muttered offhandedly.

"Think you can handle more?"

"…Yeah."

"Good."

Ed swallowed a few more spoonsful of broth before the warmth of the liquid began to make him feel drowsy. Mustang, having picked up on this, set the bowl aside, turned down the covers of the bed, and tucked him in.

"If you need anything…" he left the sentence open-ended, but Ed understood and feebly nodded. Mustang pulled the curtain back across the window before closing the door. Once he was alone, though, Ed found it hard to fall asleep, even though he felt so utterly drained. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, he crawled out of the bed, grabbed Al's helmet off of the dresser, and brought it back with him. But, even the familiar sight of Al at his bedside did little to help him.

Eventually, morning light seeped through the curtains. Enough feeling had returned to his legs that he could walk using the nearest wall for support, so he left the bedroom that had once belong to Hughes and meandered along a short hallway to a modest living room. He could see a small kitchen to the left, and to the right, in the back of the living room, was a work desk, where – at the moment – sat Mustang. He seemed engrossed in some kind of official document, so much so that he hadn't noticed Ed enter the room. As funny as it would be to startle him, Ed didn't have the energy, so he cautiously cleared his throat. The Colonel looked up and almost immediately laid aside the paper, as if trying not to draw attention to it.

"Ed. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine," Ed lied with an expressionless face.

Mustang caught on to his apathy and leveled Ed with a gaze that said, "Come on, Ed. I'm not _that_ stupid."

"Okay… more like not at all."

"Thank you for being truthful that time. Insomnia is a common symptom of withdrawal."

"Is that what you were reading just now? A list of possible symptoms I could have?"

"No. It was… it's a lead Falman gave me on a case."

"What kind of case?"

"Sabotage within the ranks of the Military. Higher-ups silencing subordinates they think could later pose a threat to their positions. You'd probably find it terribly boring."

"So, you're actually doing work. Wait… what day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"Shouldn't you _be_ at work?"

"I've let the office know I'll be working from home for a little while so I can take care of my son."

Ed snorted. "And they bought that?"

"It _is_ the truth. You're on extended leave for your health."

Now a disdainful frown crept onto Ed's face. "You mean you've already started going around calling me your son?"

"Again, it _is_ the truth."

"You're a hopeless romantic, you know that, Colonel?"

"Maybe. What's wrong with that?"

Ed waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever."

"Oh, Ed?" Mustang asked with a teasing, yet apologetic smile. "When was the last time you took a bath?"

Ed shrugged; personal hygiene hadn't exactly been at the top of his to-do list lately.

"Then fix that. Right now, if you don't mind."

"Whatever," Ed said again.

Getting the hint that Ed had no intention of taking care of himself, the Colonel rose from the desk, grabbed some fresh clothes and a towel from Ed's trunk, steered the young alchemist into the bathroom, and shut him inside.

"Now get cleaned up."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'll come in there and make you."

"Pervert," Ed taunted.

"Not even if you were the last person on Earth," Mustang assured him from the other side of the door. "Enough is enough, Ed. If you're going to act like a four-year-old, then I'm going to treat you like one. That's all there is to it."

Ed looked over his shoulder at the bathtub. Maybe he could drown himself in it and save everyone the trouble. It was a tempting idea, but Ed decided against it. After turning on the faucet (at which point he heard Mustang's footsteps recede), he tugged off his clothes and left them in a heap. His hair was already loose, but he experimentally tried to untangle a few of the knots as he waited for the water level to get high enough. At last, he climbed over the edge of the tub, dipping in his left leg first. When the mildly hot water came into contact with the festering incision marks on his right leg, he winced, but he forced himself to stick the tender skin in further. His left arm protested just as much, but, finally, he was able to submerge. Now that the initial sting had passed, the water felt pretty good. Ed looked at his spindly human limbs; those abscesses were going to be pretty nasty when they opened up, so… he might as well get it over with. Soap in hand, Ed bit his lip and attacked the first blister.

* * *

The files Falman had brought him were records of drug dealers and Military personnel suspected of having connections with them. Roy was determined his theory about the source of Ed's addiction was correct, and he was going to find the person responsible no matter how many extra hours of sorting through paperwork it took. Corruption of a minor with the intent of murder could be charged as a felony; all Roy needed was a culprit. His subordinates had promised to keep their ears extra alert, so all he could really do for now was hope that their surreptitious spy work would produce some results. Still, he couldn't just slack off in the meantime.

Roy eventually heard the bathroom door reopen, and he experimentally glanced up. Ed did look a little more relaxed, but that might have been because the sweatpants and loose shirt he was now wearing covered up the evidence of his true condition. He was rubbing the towel over his head in an attempt to keep his hair from dripping, but the result was becoming a thicket of golden tangles.

"Why don't you just use alchemy to dry it?" Roy suggested. "It'll be faster."

Ed said nothing in reply, but his nostalgic expression made Mustang realize something: he hadn't seen Ed use alchemy _once_ since… since Al had died. Was that just another measure of self-punishment? Dropping the subject, Roy asked, "So, do you think you can stand some more broth? I could season it a little this time and see how that goes."

"Sure," Ed mumbled, now tackling his damp hair with a comb. At least he was making some kind of effort.

Roy was able to get an entire bowlful of broth into the young Major, even a few plain crackers to boot. He still looked peaky overall, but some color was starting to come back into his face, even though his eyes retained their deadness.

It was only that afternoon when the real battle began. Ed's body finally realized how long it had gone without an injection and rioted in protest. Thankfully, he was already sitting when it started; otherwise, he would have collapsed for certain. Roy had seen a few of cases of scarlet fever and flu in the Military camps, and that was the closest thing he could compare it to. Knowing the only option was to wait this out, Roy guided the sweating, shivering child back to bed, staying by his side in case the symptoms should skyrocket. As evening approached, Ed's moans of discomfort grew louder and more frequent. His muscles were so restless that he seemed to vibrate as he squirmed under the sheets.

"…Stop it…" he begged in a pitiful voice. "Make it stop…"

The boy's left hand searched blindly for something to cling to, so Roy clasped it in both of his own and whispered, "It will stop. You're going to be okay, Ed; trust me on that."

The emotional symptoms were coming into play now, too. Even though Ed's eyes remained completely dry, he shook with something deeper than the tremors. He kept murmuring Al's name, telling his little brother how sorry he was, how he had failed. Just when Roy thought things couldn't get much worse, Ed looked at him, and an almost insane fear filled the golden eyes. He jumped out of the bed, yanking his hand free of Roy's grasp and scrambling across the room.

"Ed? What's wrong?"

The boy made no coherent reply as he started hyperventilating. Racking his brains, Roy wondered if – because Ed's surroundings were still rather unfamiliar – his half-delirious state had induced a kind of panic attack. He looked like a frightened animal as he cowered in the corner.

"Ed?" Roy asked calmly, crouching by the boy's side. "It's okay. You're safe here; there's nothing to be afraid of."

When Roy reached arm's length, Ed lashed out, but missed. "Calm down," said Roy, placing a steady hand on the automail wrist before it could swipe at him again. Ed struggled, but Roy wrapped his other arm around Ed's shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. The boy was shaking like a leaf.

"It's okay," Roy repeated as he soothingly rubbed Ed's back. "I won't let anything hurt you. You're safe with me, Ed. Just close your eyes and try to relax. Trust me, you're going to be okay."

He kept up the stream of reassurance for many long minutes, and eventually he felt Ed's tense body relax as the boy succumbed to sleep. Roy didn't dare try to move him in case another round of paranoia should hit him, so he leaned against the nearest wall, cradling Ed in his lap, and closed his eyes.

* * *

_I don't know how I got this way  
I know it's not alright.  
So I'm breaking the habit,  
I'm breaking the habit  
Tonight_

* * *

A/N: Huzzah! We're halfway through (this fic is going to be only six chapters since the plot is simple enough).

I personally love chicken broth, and I do honestly feel sleepy after having it.

Oooh, Ed in the bathtub. *nosebleed* Just kidding XD


	4. Relapse

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**by AngelG93**_

* * *

A/N: We're getting there. The climax approaches…

* * *

_How long can you stand the pain  
How long will you hide your face  
How long will you be afraid  
Are you afraid  
How long will you play this game  
Will you fight or will you walk away_

"Let It Burn" by **Red**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Relapse**

When Ed lazily opened his eyes the next morning, every inch of his body ached. He wondered if this was what being struck by lightning was like. Only then did he realize that he was in Mustang's lap. The Colonel was fast asleep with his head reclining against the wall. A little pang of guilt zapped Ed in the gut; Mustang was doing so much for his sake, putting up with his crap and running himself ragged. It was too bad that Ed wasn't interested in going through with breaking his addiction. Even though the symptoms of withdrawal had faded, his craving for the heroin had not diminished in the least. Still, he didn't want to make his betrayal of Mustang's efforts obvious; he wouldn't be able to inject himself here, anyway. He'd have to keep it secret and do it elsewhere.

Leaving the Colonel peaceful where he was, Ed quietly made his way to the living room. The papers Mustang had been rifling through were still sitting on the desk. Despite Mustang's insistence that Ed would find it boring, the small blonde picked up the top leaf. It was a prison record of a criminal charged with smuggling and selling illegal drugs. As Ed examined the other pages, he found similar files: warrants, maps tracking whereabouts, etc. There were also Military profiles on high-ranking officers; what were those doing in a pile with this lot of felons? Mustang had said his case was about _"h__igher-ups silencing subordinates they think could later pose a threat to their positions,"_ so how did the info on drug dealers come into play?

"Wait a…" he mused aloud. "Does this have something to do with me?"

"It does, actually," said Mustang behind him. Ed must have been reading for longer than he'd thought for the Colonel to have woken up from such a deep sleep. He joined Ed at the desk and ran a hand over the stack of papers. "I think your addiction is a subtle attempt on your life."

Ed smiled sarcastically. "Come on, Colonel. That sounds like something from an espionage novel."

"The evidence I've gathered would suggest the contrary." He sank into the chair behind the desk and met Ed's gaze. "Criminals don't normally seek out random teenagers to peddle drugs to; the clients come to them. But, this case is different, which implies different motivation, implies money changing hands. Ed, do you know anyone in the Military who would consider you a threat, who would want you dead?"

"Colonel…" Ed sighed, "I'm sure there are plenty of people who feel threatened by my illustrious talent."

"Well, don't let it go to your head or anything," joked Mustang on the side.

"The point is, I couldn't narrow it down to a few suspects. I've… never really avoided making enemies."

"I've noticed." Mustang stroked his chin thoughtfully, rubbing the beginnings of stubble along his jawline. "My men are scouting around Central Command to see what they can pick up, but I have a feeling the truth will come out eventually. It almost always does."

His words formed an uncomfortable lump in Ed's throat. Was Mustang suspicious that he was planning to dive back into his addiction, or was that just a coincidence? Either way, Ed didn't care if he was being indirectly assassinated; he was the one doing this to himself, so it was more like… prolonged suicide.

"Anyway…" shrugged Mustang, "I assume you're feeling better."

Coming out of his contemplation, Ed nodded. "Yeah. I'm just kind of groggy."

"Understandable. Let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"Sure." Ed watched Mustang cross the room into the kitchen and pull out a frying pan. "Cooking breakfast?"

"If you think your stomach can handle it, I'll make eggs."

The small blonde massaged his scrawny middle. "Yeah, that sounds good." Even as he followed the Colonel with his eyes, he was strategizing. Out of a guilt-driven obligation from his superior's kindness, he would let Mustang keep thinking he was improving… but that would be a lie. Ed knew where to find his supplier; he could get daily injections there and last on that. The main problem would be slipping away from Mustang. Still, not too much of a problem to be impossible.

* * *

The first week was the hardest, full of restless nights for both Roy and Ed, but once the latter's body began to adjust to its new equilibrium, the boy recovered meteorically. As much as Roy hoped this dramatic turnaround was sincere, he still waited over a fortnight before returning to his daily routine at Central Command. He would leave for work in the morning while Ed was still asleep, and then come back in the late afternoon to find his "son" reading or dozing, all very peaceful, and yet… unnatural – for someone like Ed, at least. But, maybe, without Al by his side to drive him in his quest for the Philosopher's Stone, he had adapted to the relative mundaneness of everyday life. Still, Roy made a point of checking in with him multiple times a day (even over the phone), hoping to pick up any subtle hints of Ed's boredom – or even full-out misery.

"How are you doing?" he would ask.

"Fine," Ed would reply cheerfully. Sometimes, he would add a joking insult along the lines of, "Honestly, you haven't even been my dad for two months, and you've already gotten this paranoid and overprotective. At this rate, you're gonna need psychiatric help for separation anxiety issues."

On the whole, Roy was hopeful. He probably wouldn't have had _any_ doubts… if not for the nightmares. Though no two were identical, they all ended the same way… with Ed's death. Even the subconscious idea scared him, so much so that, in the aftermath of these visions, Roy would tiptoe over to Ed's room and look in, just to make sure that he was breathing, that he was safe.

With this in mind, Roy was panic-stricken when, one night, he checked on Ed and found the bed empty. From what little he could gather, it looked like Ed had hastily darted out of bed and gone… where? The curtains on the window were pulled to the sides, and the bolt had been left unlocked. Had Ed run away? Where? Why? Roy tried to think of what he had done wrong, why his attempt to help the young Major was suddenly crashing around his ears.

In the hope that Ed would return, Roy stationed himself in the darkest corner so he could observe Ed's natural reentry. These measures were rewarded; within the hour, the bottom pane of the window slid upward, and Ed slunk over the sill. The small blonde stealthily readjusted the window so that nothing looked out of place and then crept across the floor and climbed back into bed. Only when he had pulled the covers over himself once more did Roy quietly approach. He looked down at the boy; part of him didn't want to start another conflict, but he knew he had to for both their sakes. Bracing himself, Roy cleared his throat.

"Out for a night stroll?"

Ed sharply sat up, a look of heart-racing shock on his face. The guilt was etched across his features as plainly as the Flamel cross on his characteristic red coat. "I… I was just…"

"Edward," sighed Roy, getting on his knees beside the bed, "please be honest with me. I won't get angry with you, I promise."

The small blonde gulped; he seemed unable or unwilling to look his "father" in the eye. For nearly a minute, he said nothing, and then…

"I… I thought I could have it both ways."

Roy's brow creased in concern and confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't stop – I didn't want to – but… I didn't want you to know about it."

As challenging as it was, Roy tried to put himself in Ed's position, to understand his turmoil. "Because you thought I'd be angry?"

Ed shook his head. "I… I thought you'd be… disappointed. And you are – I can tell."

"I'm afraid I can't help that. Ed, you were doing so well."

"That's what I wanted you to believe. It's been an act, all of it." He rolled up his sleeve to show a handful of red pinpricks around his left elbow, solid evidence that he'd relapsed. "The first chance I got, I snuck out to get a dose. I made myself limit the max to two a day so I could hide it better: one in the middle of the day, and one at night. I thought I could make it work, that I could just… keep doing it a _little_."

Roy touched a finger to the ravaged, pale skin, waiting for anything more Ed had to say.

"I… I'm sorry, Colonel, but I just can't do it. I'm not strong enough to stop, not without… without Al. I know you want to help me, and I've come to appreciate that, but you can't save me." Roy looked up into Ed's misted golden eyes just as the boy concluded, "In fact, my staying here is only causing you pain; I've taken your kindness and trampled on it, and I regret that. So… so maybe it's time I just… ended it."

"Ed! What are you saying?" Roy gaped, clutching the small blonde's shoulders.

"I'm going to leave... for good."

"Please, Ed, don't say things like that! We can work this out, we can-"

A rapid, yet controlled strike to the side of his neck knocked the air out of him and sent him crashing to the floor. Gasping and dizzy, he watched Ed walk back toward the window. Just before he reached it, he looked over his shoulder at Roy.

"I'm sorry… Dad… but you have to let me go. Al's waited for me long enough."

"Ed… don't…" Even as he reached out in vain, the boy threw the window open, clambered over the sill, and disappeared.

* * *

_Will you fight or will you walk away  
How long will you let it burn  
Let it burn  
Let it burn_

* * *

A/N: Sort of a short chapter, but... *shrug* Simple plots don't require long chapters…

Two-thirds of the way done – yay!


	5. Overdose

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**by AngelG93**_

* * *

A/N: So close… the tension… *explodes*

* * *

_I hate me,  
For breathing without you…  
_…_I long to be like you,  
Lie cold in the ground like you.  
There's room inside for two_

"Like You" by **Evanescence**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Overdose**

"Ed, wait!" Rubbing his neck, Roy crawled toward the window and pulled himself up so he could lean on the sill. He caught one brief glimpse of the golden head before it vanished behind a brick building. "Dammit!" the Colonel pounded his fist on the window ledge in frustration and mounting panic. What was he supposed to do? Merely chasing after Ed would be of no use; the boy could most certainly outrun him. What he needed was a search team. On the other hand… was he just being cruel by trying to force Ed to keep living when he'd already given up? He'd told himself that he could handle Ed hating him, but…

Suddenly, Hughes's advice came back to him: _"If you need anything, don't hesitate to holler, got it?"_ He rushed to the phone and dialed the familiar number, praying that Maes would pick up. One ring, two, three…

Then, he heard a _click_ and a yawn. "Hello?"

"Hughes, it's me. Ed…" He had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could continue, "Ed's run off; I don't know where. I think… I think he's going to kill himself."

A horrified gasp echoed through the speaker. "Oh, Roy."

"I… I don't know what to do."

_That_ sparked something in the Lieutenant Colonel. "Listen to me, Roy. I'll call up my men; you should do the same. In addition to stopping Ed from hurting himself, this could also be our chance to find the dealer who approached him; let's not waste it."

"But-"

"_We are going to find Ed_," said Hughes in his most serious tone. "You can't give up now, Roy. This is when he needs you most; understand? Only you can pull him back from the brink."

"I thought I could, but…"

"I don't want to hear any doubts from you, Roy. Hesitation could cost Ed his life, so let's get moving."

Without further ado, Hughes hung up. Mustang took a deep breath, drawing on his friend's words for strength, and prepared to give Hawkeye an unwelcome wakeup call.

* * *

Once Ed was sure that Mustang wasn't following him, he slowed to a normal pace and pulled up the hood of his jacket, seeking not to draw attention to himself. If he knew his superior, the Colonel would be alerting all the MPs in the area to keep an eye out for him, so the last thing he wanted to do was make himself noticeable. Blending in with the darkness, he followed the path he'd memorized through side-streets and alleys into the less-reputable sector of Central. As he walked, he thought about the first time he'd met his supplier. It had been only about two weeks after Al's untimely death, and Ed, unable to accept his brother's absence, had joined the military full-time in an attempt to distract himself from that harsh reality.

That was when _he_ had appeared, like a shadow. He had casually walked up to Ed and asked, "Say, aren't you the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"Yes," Ed had replied automatically. He had gotten used to random people asking about him, since he looked far too young to be walking around in a military uniform.

"My, my, I've heard quite a lot about you. In fact, most recently… I've heard you're struggling with a considerable loss."

Knowing the stranger was talking about Al, Ed had averted his eyes, his defenses going up. "I've gotten enough condolences, so-"

"Oh, that's not why I brought it up."

This unexpected response had drawn Ed's gaze back to the tall, thin man. "Then…"

"I've seen plenty of people go through that kind of loss. It leaves a pain all over that you can't get rid of no matter what you do, am I right?"

Ed had nodded, curious as to where this train of the conversation was leading.

"You'd like to be free from that pain, wouldn't you?" The man had said as he had circled around to Ed's back.

"Well, yes, but-"

Placing a firm, long-fingered hand on Ed's right shoulder, the stranger had grinned and said, "I've got just the thing for you, Kid."

"Huh?"

"I have something that can make that horrible pain go away."

Ed had blinked in surprise. "R… really?"

"Yup. You interested?"

Ed had raised an eyebrow, his common sense kicking in. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I'm just a magnanimous fellow who feels for you, Kid. What do you say?"

Ed had hesitated for a few moments longer; it had felt like a scenario where Al would charge in and say, _"Brother, let's just go. You don't need whatever he's offering."_ But Al couldn't say that… or anything… because he was gone. Biting back the weight of the sorrow in his chest, Ed had finally given his answer. "Okay, sure."

The man had then steered the young Major to his den and introduced himself as Doyle Boucher with the addendum, "But call me 'Boucher;' everyone does." Directing Ed further back into the shady building and indicating a cot on a metal frame, he had said, "Take a seat," before sifting through crates of what looked like medical supplies and pulling out a capped beaker and an empty syringe. Ed had involuntarily winced at the sight of the hypodermic, drawing Boucher's attention. "Not a fan of needles?"

"Not really, no."

Boucher had shrugged. "Few people are at the start." Filling the syringe from the beaker, he had approached Ed and asked the boy to roll up his sleeve. Once the skin was exposed, Boucher had tied a rubber strap just below Ed's elbow and run his fingers along the boy's inner forearm, whistling his approval. "You've got strong veins, kid. They'll last you a long time."

Ed hadn't been sure what Boucher had meant by that last bit, but he'd let it pass. At last, the man had chosen a satisfactory vein and pressed the needle into Ed's skin. Only seconds after the contents of the syringe had entered his system, Ed had felt pure euphoria flood his brain. He vaguely remembered Boucher telling him to lie down and joking that he was a lightweight, but after that, the bliss had blocked out everything in his surroundings, everything in his thoughts… even Al.

Ed came out of his reverie just as he reached Boucher's den. There wasn't much more to the story anyway: Boucher had given him all the supplies he needed for self-injection and told Ed to _"just come on back" _as soon as he ran low. It was only _after_ three weeks that Ed had finally realized that he had been taking heroin. Focusing on the present, Ed stepped inside. Boucher was lounging on a couch in the front room, flanked by two scantily clad, overly made-up young women.

"Well, well," greeted the drug dealer. "I didn't expect you back so soon, Kid. You only left an hour ago."

Staring at a stain on the concrete floor, Ed mumbled. "I'm done."

"Done?" echoed Boucher, rising from his seat and crouching so that Ed had to look into his face. "Are you trying to tell me you're quitting? Pity, I've got some good junk lined up for you."

"That's not what I mean. I'm done trying. I… I can't…"

Boucher finally seemed to understand, and he smiled sympathetically. "I gotcha, Kid. Don't worry, I can give you as smooth of a ride as they come." Unzipping his leather jacket and tossing it to his girls, he rolled up his sleeves and added. "I'll see you off personally."

Boucher placed a hand between Ed's shoulder blades and gently pushed him to the back of the den. Ed sat on the simple cot and tried to keep himself from trembling. A tiny voice in his head was screaming to get out, to run back to the Colonel where he could be safe… but he didn't listen. Boucher pulled a drip stand over by the bed and hung a bag full of heroin on it. Ed could see a skull-and-crossbones scribbled next to one of the measurement increments, but the actual amount of the drug was well over that marker. Noticing what Ed was looking at, Boucher said, "Just to make sure you get where you're going."

"Right," Ed acknowledged in a small voice.

"You scared?"

"…A little."

Boucher smirked. "Don't sweat it; who wouldn't be?" The drug dealer wrapped a tourniquet around Ed's arm and found a workable point of entry. "I _told_ you those veins of yours would last a long time." Holding the needle against the crook of Ed's arm, he checked, "Ready?"

Ed nodded, and the cold metal immediately penetrated his skin. As the heroin began coursing through his body, Boucher laid him against the pillow. Struck by a final fear, Ed asked, "Will it… hurt?"

The dealer smiled down reassuringly at the boy. "Not a bit. Have a good dream, Kid."

As if on cue, Ed's senses succumbed to the warm darkness.

* * *

Roy pulled on his ignition gloves. All of Ed's possible locations had been divided up between the two teams; his men were ready to move out, as were Hughes and his squadron. As they combed the back streets of Central, they were forced to stretch their numbers thin. Eventually, Mustang found only Hawkeye by his side. The longer they looked, the more panic built up in his gut. At this rate, would Ed even be alive when they found him?

"Sir? You're shaking."

"I'll be okay once we find him."

"Right, sir." Referring to a piece of paper Falman had handed her, Hawkeye continued. "We're getting close."

"To where, exactly?" Roy prompted.

"A den run by a piece of scum called Boucher. He's _clever_, always managing to elude capture whenever we run him down."

"That sounds like someone an insider from the Military could trust to get a job done."

"My thoughts exactly, sir. How do you want to play this?"

"We can't waste time with a full-out battle. Let's just walk in and see if he'll talk."

"As you say, Colonel."

There was nothing extraordinary about the building; it looked like any of the other warehouses surrounding it. The only noticeable difference was a sign dangling from the handle of the front door that read: _Come on in and have a good time._

"That's sick," spat Roy before pulling the door open and stepping inside, Hawkeye covering his back.

The appearance of two military officers definitely caused a stir in the drug den: thugs reached for their guns or covered up suspicious items, all the while glaring at the newcomers. However, their leader came forward and motioned for calm. "How can I help you, Colonel?" he asked, taking a moment to register Roy's insignia of rank.

"It's quite simple. I'm looking for a boy: blonde, sixteen, short, name of Edward Elric."

Boucher's expression remained pleasant as he pretended to rack his brains. "Let me see… I think I _did_ have a boy matching that description in the back…"

"He's admitting it?" Hawkeye ogled under her breath.

"But," continued Boucher, "I'm afraid you're too late to catch him. He's off on a little trip to the undiscovered country. You're welcome to the body, though."

_WHACK!_ Mustang didn't even register raising his fist and slugging the dealer in the face until the punch had been thrown and the criminal was on the ground.

"Colonel!" cried Hawkeye in shock. As Boucher's thugs pulled out their weapons threateningly, the Lieutenant did her best to hold back her superior.

"You bastard!" screamed Roy. "You murdered him! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Again Boucher waved down his accomplices as he got to his feet and wiped a bit of blood from his lower lip. "Come now, Colonel. The two of you against all my men? That sounds like suicide."

"DO YOU KNOW WHO THE HELL YOU'RE TALKING TO? ROY MUSTANG, THE FLAME ALCHEMIST! I COULD CREMATE ALL OF YOU WITHIN THREE SECONDS!"

A trace of momentary fear passed through Boucher's widened eyes. "Look, I said you could have the body. Shall I bring him out for you, or…?"

Forcing himself to calm down, Roy leveled the dealer with a deadly glare. "I'd prefer you didn't lay another hand on him."

"Fine, then. If you'll follow me, Colonel."

Hawkeye cautiously released her superior and whispered. "Sir, please don't do anything rash. He's confessed; he'll receive his due punishment."

Mustang nodded before falling in step behind Boucher. It only took a minute to navigate to the rear of the warehouse… and there was Ed, stretched out on a cot, peaceful and still. The image stabbed Roy in the chest, but the cruelest sight by far was the tranquil smile on the boy's face. Swallowing his grief, the Colonel approached his son's motionless form and extracted the needle from the pale arm. After ripping off the rubber tourniquet, he scooped up Ed in his arms. As he turned to leave, he threw the drug dealer another nasty look. "Boucher, you're under arrest for peddling illegal substances, corrupting a minor, and murder."

The criminal wagged a finger. "That last part isn't accurate, Colonel. I technically facilitated a suicide." When this snappy report garnered fury in Roy's dark eyes, Boucher shrugged. "You can try to arrest me, all right, but I'll get away. I always do."

"I could burn you alive right now."

"And then my men would shoot your pretty lady-friend."

Roy tightened his grip on Ed, but he restrained himself. He met Hawkeye near the entrance and they departed together. At the first payphone they passed, Hawkeye called Hughes and informed him of the situation. Roy was amazed at how steady she was able to keep her voice… because he could see the pain in her brown eyes.

Hughes, Breda, Havoc, Falman, and Fuery joined Mustang and Hawkeye at the hospital, or – more accurately – in Knox's examination room in the morgue. The doctor had to tell Roy several times to set Ed down on his table before the Colonel actually complied. Slumping into a chair, he wondered if this was anything close to the shock Ed had felt when, in an instant, Al had been taken from him. Hughes sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I couldn't save him," Roy heard himself whimper. "I was supposed to keep him safe, and I failed."

"Don't blame yourself, Roy. It was Ed's decision."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No, it doesn't, but you can't change what's been done. You can't bring him back."

Roy's eyes lit up as Hughes's words sunk in. "You're wrong about that, Hughes. I… I _could_ bring him back."

Hawkeye caught on immediately. "Sir, you can't mean-"

"Human Transmutation," said Roy with deadly calm.

"Roy, that's crazy!" cried Hughes. "Even two geniuses like Ed and Al couldn't make it work!"

"But, Ed can't have been dead for long. I can still-"

Instantly, everyone except Knox gathered around Mustang, forcing him to stay in his seat. "You're not thinking straight, Chief," cautioned Havoc.

"Fullmetal wouldn't want you to put yourself in that kind of risk," put in Breda.

"Besides, Human Transmutation is illegal," added Falman.

"I don't care, dammit! I'm going to bring him back! I'm not going to lose him!"

Hawkeye pressed a firm hand against his chest. "You've already lost him, sir. I'm sorry, but that's the bitter truth of it."

Her words weighed him down with grief, so much so that he sank to the floor like a deflated balloon. Grasping her hands in supplication, he begged, "Please… please just let me try."

"Apologies, sir, but I can't do that."

Roy closed his eyes so that the tears wouldn't come out, but when Knox suddenly spoke up, he stared at his comrade.

"Well, while you were all shouting, I found something interesting."

"Knox, how can you go off on a tangent of medical fascination at a time like this?" demanded Hughes.

"That's not what I meant," replied Knox indignantly. After making sure he had the room's full attention, he announced, "The kid has a pulse."

* * *

_There's room inside for two,  
And I'm not grieving for you,  
I'm coming for you._

* * *

A/N: The name "Doyle" means "dark stranger," and "Boucher" comes from the Old French word "_bochier_," meaning "butcher." And, voila! "Doyle Boucher" - I have some art of him in my dA gallery now (he's better-looking than you might think).

I feel like I've added Ed's fear of needles from the 2003 anime to my head-canon. What with his intense automail surgery, it would make sense that the experience scarred him a little and biased him against needles. That just shows how addicted he becomes, for him to get over that fear.


	6. Freedom

_**Breaking the Habit**_

_**by AngelG93**_

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the abrupt cliffhanger, but I needed enough material for this chapter.

You all probably know that ICU stands for Intensive Care Unit, right? Just checking…

* * *

_Your heart is full of broken dreams, just a fading memory  
And everything's gone, but the pain carries on  
Lost in the rain again, when will it ever end  
The arms of relief seem so out of reach  
But I, I am here_

"Not Alone" by **Red**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Freedom**

Those five words hit Roy like a train at full speed.

"It's weak," Knox clarified, "dangerously weak. We need to move him to the ICU immediately."

"I got him," Havoc volunteered, picking up Ed and following Knox into the hallway. The other soldiers remained huddled around the Colonel, who was shaking from a fresh round of shock.

"He's… he's alive…" was all he could manage.

Hughes smiled and patted his comrade on the back. "I must admit, that news flash threw me for a loop, too."

"I just hope Dr. Knox will be able to stabilize him," sighed Fuery, wiping his eyes under his glasses.

"As do we all," Hawkeye concluded, gently pulling her superior to his feet. "Colonel? How about we go to the ICU? You should be with Ed when he wakes up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said the Lieutenant with a firm tone. "You _are_ the only family he has now, sir."

Mustang took a deep, calming breath and reassumed more of his usual authoritative air. "You're right, as usual. All right, let's go find him."

* * *

It had been four days since Ed's overdose, and though his vitals remained constant (albeit low), he showed no signs of stirring from his comatose state. Roy hardly left his son's side, waiting for those golden eyes to open and that smart-ass mouth to insult him. His subordinates visited as often as they could, as did Hughes, but Dr. Knox was the one who most frequently kept watch with Mustang.

"Jack," said Roy in a flat, controlled voice, "be honest with me. What will happen if his condition doesn't change soon?"

"I can't say for sure."

"Worst-case scenario."

"In hospitals, worst-case scenario only means one thing, Roy, and you know full-well what that is."

"Yes, I do, but I want to know details. How bad are the possibilities?"

Knox gave him a quizzical look that implied, _"Are you feeling masochistic today, or something?"_ "Well, we know he's not completely brain-dead, but… there is the possibility that he'll never wake up, that the heroin caused too much internal damage."

"I see." Roy placed a hand on Ed's pale, warm forehead. "Do you think… do you think he can hear us?"

"_No one_ knows that, Roy." Seeing the Colonel's morose expression, however, Knox decided to let a little sarcasm slip into the conversation. "But, what the hell - maybe if you call him 'short' enough times, you'll get through."

Roy chuckled in spite of himself. "Maybe."

At that moment, Havoc entered, breathing hard. "Chief! I've got good news, and I've got bad news."

"Bad news first."

"Boucher got away."

Mustang groaned, but he quickly let this annoyance go. "I should have anticipated that. Fine, what's the good news?"

"He sold out the people who hired him to kill Ed; he left an explicit note for us with their names and ranks. We're taking action now, sir."

"That… that _is_ good news." Turning to Ed, Mustang clasped the boy's limp hand and murmured, "Hear that, Ed? We going to make sure those bastards pay for this."

Knox rose from his seat and sent Havoc a silent communiqué: _"Let's leave them alone for a while."_ Understanding, Havoc accompanied the doctor from the room.

In the stillness that followed, Roy listened to the small, steady sound of Ed's breathing until, finally, he couldn't remain silent any longer.

"Edward? I really hope you can hear me. I hope… that somehow, my voice can help you come back to us." Sniffling, he continued. "I… I can't help but feel that this is my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone when Al died; I let you feel isolated, and I am so, _so_ sorry. I should have done more; I should have made it clear that I was at your side, ready to help you. Please forgive me, Ed. Please give me the chance to make it up to you. We're all waiting, some of us better than others. Poor Fuery's broken down into hysterics more than once; he's always had a soft spot for you. In fact, we all do." He caressed Ed's forehead with a tender hand. "Especially me; my soft spot's gotten so big, I don't know where it ends. Please, Ed. I _need_ you to wake up. If you don't, that spot is going to rot away into something cold and dead, just like… just like you would be." With the small hand clutched between his own, Roy closed his eyes and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed, his head bowed in what might have been prayer, though to whom or what, even _he_ didn't know.

* * *

This whiteness… it felt familiar. The Portal? No, it was something… even _less_ comprehensible.

"Well," sighed Edward, "I guess that's it. I'm dead."

A warm laugh resounded from behind him. "Still jumping to conclusions, aren't you, Brother?"

Ed whirled around, and joy more potent than any drug flowed through him. In front of him stood Alphonse, Al as he should be: human and whole. Ed could feel tears stinging the corners of his eyes, but he forced himself to hold them in.

Sensing his hidden emotions, Al smiled and held his arms out. "Why don't you drop the tough-guy act and come give me a hug?"

He closed the distance in a second, wrapping his arms around his little brother and letting a few drops fall from his eyes. For the first time, Ed didn't care that Al was still taller than him; all that mattered was that they were together now, and nothing could ever separate them again.

"Actually, that's not necessarily true," said Al, as if reading Ed's thoughts.

"What do you mean, Al?" questioned Ed, pulling back a little so he could see Al's face. "I'm dead, aren't I?"

"Well… no, not yet. But, you're close, close enough that…"

"That what?"

"That you can choose."

"Between life and death? Al, there's no 'choosing' involved. It's obvious! I want to be where you and Mom are."

To Ed's surprise, Al's cheerful expression faltered. "I knew you'd say that."

"What is it? Why do you look so glum all of a sudden? Don't… don't you want me with you?"

"That's just it, Ed. I… I don't want you to die, not yet. It's too soon; you still have so much life ahead of you."

"So did _you_, and yet you-"

"It was my time. You might find that hard to believe, but it's the truth." Al grasped his elder brother by the shoulders. "But _you_, Ed, there's no need for you to die now. Your time will come, but please don't make it today."

"But, why wouldn't I? What do I even have to go back to? Surely you've seen how… how I've destroyed myself."

Al's eyes filled with sadness. "Yes, I have. But, you don't have to go back to _that_. You can leave _that_ right here to die."

"You make it sound so easy. I can't just quit it like that, Al. I… I need your help."

"And I'm giving it to you. I'll tell you right now: I want you to stop hurting yourself, Ed. Stop _existing_ and actually _live_. You still have plenty to live for: finding the Stone, restoring your body, spending time with all of the people who care about you." Al's gaze drifted off into the nothingness. "You can't hear him, can you? The Colonel."

"Mustang? What about him?"

"He's been calling your name over and over, begging you to wake up, to come back." Looking at Ed once more, Al asked, "Would you really put him through the same kind of pain you felt when I had to leave?"

"Are you trying to guilt-trip me, Al?"

"No, I'm just saying that you shouldn't give up, not when there's still so much you can do."

"But… what about you? Won't you be lonely without me?"

Smiling, Al said, "Not at all. I have Mom, remember? I'll gladly wait for you, Ed; I'd like to think I've always been a rather patient person."

Ed couldn't help but momentarily match his little brother's grin. "Yeah, you have been that." Glancing at the white void, he checked, "Are… are you sure?"

"Yes. Unequivocally, yes."

"…Okay. Okay, I'll go back."

Al gripped him in a tight hug. "Thank you, Ed. This will have to be goodbye for now, but it won't be the last time we see each other; you can be sure of that. I love you so much."

"I… I love you, too, Al," Ed sniffed, no longer able to stem the flow of his tears. "…Goodbye."

That was the last thing he remembered in the whiteness, holding his precious baby brother close… and saying goodbye. Maybe… maybe _that_ was what he had needed to do all along.

* * *

His face was wet. The tears of his heart had reached his body and streamed down the sides of his face, leaving little damp spots in his hair. Slowly, he opened his eyes and took a deep breath. His hand felt so warm. When Ed looked, he found Mustang clasping it tightly, yet gently. The Colonel's eyes were closed; he hadn't yet noticed Ed stir. Doing his best not to startle his superior, Ed found his voice. He chose the one word carefully, wanting in that moment to imbue Mustang with some of the strength he had just received from Al.

* * *

"…Dad?"

The effect was instantaneous. Roy's eyes flew open, and as soon as he looked down at Ed, relief overwhelmed him. Half-laughing and half-crying, he pulled the boy upright and hugged him tightly.

"Whoa, now, Colonel. Be gentle with me; I just about kicked the bucket."

Roy could hear it in Ed's voice, something that had been missing ever since Al had died. For the first time in a long time, Ed could joke and laugh, and it was _real_.

"Are you really okay?" gaped Roy, giving Ed a cursory look-over.

"Yeah, I am," snickered Ed, as if he found his father's antics highly amusing.

"I'll let the others know," said Mustang, getting to his feet only to feel a strong tug on his sleeve.

Ed had grabbed hold; the boy looked up at him and requested, "Not yet. There's… there's something important, and I want to tell you first."

Crouching back down, Roy encouraged, "Okay. What is it?"

"I… I saw Al. He's the one who convinced me to come back, and he told me… exactly what I needed to hear." Smiling, Ed stated his resolve. "I'm going to be able to do it this time, Colonel – give up the heroin, I mean. I know it won't be that easy, but I want to try. Will you… will you help me?"

Mustang beamed. "Of course I will; you don't even need to ask." On a spur of the moment, Roy planted a fatherly kiss on the top of Ed's head. "Shall I bring everyone in now?"

"Sure."

As Roy let the door swing closed behind him, he whispered his gratitude. "Thank you, Alphonse. Thank you so much. I promise, I'll take care of him for you."

A sort of warmness lit up his heart, and something seemed to whisper in his ear, _"You're welcome; I know you will."_

* * *

_I am with you  
I will carry you through it all  
I won't leave you, I will catch you  
When you feel like letting go  
Cause you're not, you're not alone_

* * *

A/N: Alphonse… we love you so TvT

The end. ^_^ Warm fuzzies all around…


End file.
